


Mon sang coule à flots

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: They are of the same blood, she and Thomas.





	Mon sang coule à flots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/gifts).



> Written as a Tumblr prompt while low on oxygen and high on cold medicine. I think it shows.
> 
> Speaking of Tumblr, if you're over there, please consider following me at [gaslightgallows.tumblr.com](http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com) for more fic, reblogs about writing, and lots of randomness. Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

He never touches her ungently, not once. Every night, he comes to her bed with love in his eyes and a question on his lips, and her answer is always the same, because her desires never change, and she never wants to see the love with which he looks at her turn to hurt. Turn to loss. He always asks and she never turns him away.

(She never thinks to ask him.)

Their love-making begins as soon as Lucille is free, and she takes her beautiful lonely little brother into her body with a sob of mourning for the years they have lost. She has endured so much without him, but she kept herself for him, and she gives herself to him completely in that dreary over-warm hotel room in Switzerland.

The pain of losing her virginity was eclipsed by the glory of Thomas’s hard length pushing into the place that had been made only for him. They move together as one, languorous and slow, and she gives him her breasts to suckle as their mother never had. She has no milk to nourish him but she has blood, the same blood that Thomas has, and she urges him to use his teeth.

The blue eyes he lifts to her face are dark as sapphires and blown with lust, and confused. “I don’t want to hurt you like that.”

“Darling Thomas,” she sighs, tracing the smooth sweet lines of his beautiful face with her trembling fingertips. “You can’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Reassured, he wraps his lips around her nipple and grazes it with his teeth, over and over and over, until she feels something sharper than pain. Then he sucks, and the sensation of her blood leaving her body sends her over the cliff’s edge. She fists her hands into Thomas’s soft brown hair and buries the scream of her climax in his shoulder.

When Lucille lifts her head, Thomas is crying. “My God, Lucy,” he whispers, over and over. “My God…” He kisses her and sobs and apologizes, for hurting her, for delighting in the way she became so tight and wet around him when she came, because she was in pain, pain that he had caused…

“You cannot hurt me,” Lucille tells him simply, smoothing his rumpled hair and kissing away his tears. “You did not hurt me. Thomas, you… have saved me.”

She slides her hands down to his buttocks, gripping them lightly and canting her hips up, taking him deeper. A small, broken whine escapes his lips. “I want…”

“Tell me.”

He swallows hard, dips his head and laves his tongue over her bruised nipple. “I want more,” he murmured against the sore skin. “I want you, Lucy.”

“You have me, my own.” She wraps her arms around him and slowly rolls him onto his back, settling her weight carefully over his hips. She stretches out atop him, her long dark hair spilling down her arms, as his hands and lips find her breasts again. “You have me.”

She moves, up, up, and then down. She whimpers and he groans, and together it is music.

When she kisses him and sits up, she takes a moment to admire the picture he makes: his tall, lean body as pale and pure as smooth marble, his eyes like jewels and his hair like polished mahogany. “I wish I could paint,” she said softly, rolling her hips over his cock, savoring the sensation of him. “Or sculpt. Something to preserve you forever.”

They both shudder at the thought, with ecstasy and terror. He clutches at her thighs in sudden need. “Hard,” he whispers. “Ride me hard, Lucy. I want… I need…”

She wraps her hands around his wrists and lifts his hands to her breasts. “Hard,” she orders.

She drives her cunt down and fucks herself on his cock, her rhythm inexperienced and awkward at first, but Thomas’s hands squeezing her breasts urge her on, and soon his hips are thrusting up to meet hers. “Harder,” he begs hoarsely. “Harder!”

Lucille’s hair clings to her face and she is dripping with sweat, and Thomas’s chest is shiny with it, and every downward slam meets an upward stab, until finally something inside her is pierced and she collapses on top of him, biting his lips to silence the ripping sound of his orgasmic sobbing cries.

They lay locked together, bleeding together, Thomas still buried deep inside her, as the aftershocks of their love-making reverberated through their bodies, leaving them sticky and cold.

But where their skins touched, they were warm.

Lucille licked the wounds she had inflicted on Thomas’s lips and then kissed him slowly, deeply, licking inside his mouth to taste her blood on his tongue.


End file.
